


A Different Kind of Drug

by DuccleMinded



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddle, Cute, Drugs, Holding Hands, M/M, Plot What Plot, Tuck-Into-Bed, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuccleMinded/pseuds/DuccleMinded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has to deal with Sherlock when he is drugged out of his mind.<br/>Set during "A Scandal in Belgravia." This was supposed to be smutty, but it turned out to be cute.<br/>Oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Drug

**Author's Note:**

> "I wish you couldn't figure me out but you'd always want to know what I was about.  
> I wish you'd hold my hand when I was upset.  
> I wish you'd never forget the look on my face when we first met..."  
> -Kate Nash

"What's this?" John's voice came to him in a panic, "what have you given him? Sherlock?"

"He'll be fine," Sherlock could hear her voice coming from another part of the room. "I've used it on loads of my friends."

From the vibrations off the wall, it sounded like she was by a larger opened space... A window, perhaps.  _Yes, that's it,_  the voice in his head was saying,  _stay awake. Pay attention!_

"Sherlock!" it was John again. This time he could see the outline of his face.

Sherlock tried to blink or speak, but his throat was closing in around him and he was having trouble simply breathing.

"Can you hear me?" John said.

 _Yes, John, I can hear you_ , Sherlock wanted to desperately to say,  _she has the phone, don't let her get away! John? John!_

 __But that was all he could manage before sleep finally claimed him.

 

 

He dreamt of The Woman. He dreamt of the case. And then he dreamt of John. And the look on his face when they first met.

 

 

"John?" Sherlock heard himself speak and he woke himself up.

His head was still pounding in an awful way. He wanted to sit up. He wanted to feel normal. He wanted a drink of water. He wanted-

"John!!"

Sherlock managed to stand himself up, the sheets draped around him. Only, when he finally did stand up, he lost his balanced and fell right back down again. He flipped himself over the bed and landed on the ground with a thud. Then the door opened and John was standing there. Sherlock could see him clearly through his drug-hazed vision.

"You okay?" John asked, nonchalantly.

"How did I get here?" Sherlock wanted to know.

"Well I don't suppose you remember much, you weren't making a lot of sense," he scratched at his ear. "Oh, I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone."

John made a face akin to hiding laughter, but Sherlock couldn't really tell at the current moment. He couldn't really understand most of what was going on, but he knew who had drugged him, and he wanted answers. He wanted answers right  _now_!

"Where is she?"

"Where's who?"

"The woman.  _That_ woman," Sherlock pointed to air. "THEEE woman!"

Why wasn't John understanding? Sherlock could hear himself talking clearly in his head, but by the looks of John's face, he must have been still slurring his words.

"The Woman woman!"

"Oh Irene Adler!" Finally. "She... Got away. No one saw her."

 _Wrong!_  thought Sherlock,  _no, she was here. She was right here... Here here._

John watched his flatmate blunder around the room in confusion and for just a minute, he felt a bit bad. He looked so pathetic.

"She wasn't here... Sherlock?"

John took that last word as a precaution. Was Sherlock really as conscious as we was acting? Was he even listening? For his part Sherlock, in his quest to find her, fell over himself and proceeded to use only his arms to start crawling on the ground.

"What are you... What's..."

John could only watch Sherlock crawl around the floor for a couple seconds before he couldn't stand it anymore. What the hell happened. He used to be so in control. It was funny at first, he had to admit (everyone had to admit) but now... Now it was not.

"No. No, no, no," John found his arms beneath Sherlock's armpits and his hands supporting his chest. He was heavier then John would of guessed. Regardless, he hoisted the thin man up with ease. "Baaack to bed."

Sherlock's face smacked the pillow with a quiet thud and John sighed.

"You'll be fine fine in the morning..." John said, silently hoping that this was true. "Just... Sleep."

"Oooooof course I'll be fine," Sherlock stated, childishly, "I am fine. I'm  _absolutely_  fine."

"Yes. You're great," said John.

Sherlock noted the sarcasm and resented it.

"Now I'll be next door if you need me."

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock snapped in a sleepy voice.

"No idea," John closed the door.

The reply came too quickly and Sherlock regretted the harshness of his own statement. No, he had to rectify this. Now!  _Right_  now!

"John!" Sherlock tried his best to raise his voice, but everything that once seemed so simple now took an extraordinary amount of effort. "Come back!  _John_!"

The door swung open and John was there with a neutral face that was trying not to show irkness.

"Sherlock?"

"I wanted to apologize," Sherlock said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah, it's fine, it's all fine. I told you that. Now go to sleep, Sherlock, you need it." John said, making his way out the door again. But he was stopped by Sherlock's slight whimper.

"Listen to me, please."

John stopped and leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed.

"Okay. What is it?"

Sherlock was trying to heave himself over so he could lie on his back, but he was having some difficulty. More whimpering. John sighed. He walked back into Sherlock's room and placed two hands on his shoulders, gently rolling him to his back. Sherlock, in turn, grabbed John's sleeve, pulling him just above his head.

"John," Sherlock said, blinking, trying to annunciate. "John."

"What!" John sounded annoyed, but based upon the fact that his hands were still on Sherlock's shoulders and he wasn't prying Sherlock's hands off of him yet, Sherlock could deduce that he wasn't irritated much at all.

Sherlock's hands clung on to John's sleeve and John was reminded of the way he used to hang on to his parents when they were about to go out for the night. Young John didn't want them to go. And now Sherlock...

"Sherlock," John said, sitting by the bed and gently taking Sherlock's hands off him. "I won't leave if you don't want me to."

"Yes, could you not?" Sherlock blurred out before he had a chance to stop himself, "that would be preferable."

John nodded and Sherlock seemed to relax a bit. He even closed his eyes. John sat on the edge of the bed, his hands still over Sherlock's, not knowing what else to do besides... Be there.

"I've always trusted you, John," Sherlock said after a few moments. John had been staring out the darkened window and this sudden confession threw him.

"Oh?" he said, patting Sherlock's arms, but continuing to stare out the window, "well that's... Good."

"You've always shown great courage and loyalty."

John frowned and tilted his head. The voice was Sherlock's, but he was saying the words as if he were reading them from a speech of some kind; they weren't his.

"Those are the drugs talking."

"Nooo it's not!" Sherlock said, eyes flashing open and his hands grasping for John's arm and sleeves again, "my guard is down and it's enabling me to tell you things that I couldn't say otherwise. Why are you here?"

John bit his lower lip, confused again. Sherlock was speaking quickly, if not a bit slurred, and John was having trouble keeping up with him. John tried to take Sherlock's arms away, but Sherlock wouldn't let him. He was holding on too tight.

"Because you asked me to stay. Sherlock, let go, it's okay."

"No, I mean, what I mean is, why do you stay with me? In general. Here in Baker Street. In general."

"What?"

"You put up with so much, John. I'm sorry."

Sherlock was battling a lot of things at this point. He was fighting off sleep as well as the fact that his head felt like a wrecking ball. So heavy, so destructive. But he was also fighting off something else. Something annoying- emotions, probably. He was running his mouth and he didn't want to. He wanted to stop, but something was telling him to get these feelings out in the open. He had kept everything inside for too long and he was out of RAM space in his mind palace.

"You're always here, and you put up with so much. You could go out and be a doctor, or whatever it is that you do at that clinic that you never attend. And you don't attend it because you're with me. All the time. On cases. Or shooting people so that... So that I am not harmed. I understand you are my friend, but I simply do not see the point in putting one hundred and ten percent of effort into hanging around. No one else has before, so why you? I don't know  _why,_ John!"

Sherlock flared his arms without letting go of John, so his arms went wildly about with Sherlock's.

"It irritates me to no end!" Sherlock sighed loudly, exasperated. "There is nothing for you here! I am not easy for you, I am not easy for anyone! Tell me why! Tell me why you're here!"

There was a pause for a while. John collected his thoughts. He looked down at his flatmate who was staring back up at him with those blue eyes. His worry lip was finally getting the time to worry, something it had never gotten to do in the past and John was at a loss for words.

"John-"

"No, wait," John said, keeping very still. He thought about a way he could explain this so that a very drug induced Sherlock would understand.

"Sherlock, it's fine. I get it. I know you're difficult to live with, but I like that about you. You're honest and pretty open about most things. You are there for me when I need you the most and ... And you're never boring." John stopped trying to take his arms away.

"You couldn't understand what my life was before Baker Street. You're mind doesn't work that way. It doesn't work that slow. It was... Horrible. There was nothing to do, nothing ever happened to me and I was starting to give up. And then you came along and messed everything over and now I am here, and truly I couldn't be happier. You don't know it, but I was so al-" John looked over.

Sherlock was asleep. His grip on John had finally lightened and John could have taken his arms away if he wanted to. But he didn't. He took Sherlock's hands in his and traced his knuckles.

"Sherlock," John whispered, "I owe you so much."

John whispered other things, things that he would never dare to say when Sherlock was awake. He was hoping to get to Sherlock's subconscious. That way he would already know how John felt about him and there would be nothing more to say later on. 

John stayed with him through most of the night. It was only until he couldn't hold his own head up when he finally took leave of his flatmate and went into his own room where he slept more soundly then he had in a long time.


End file.
